The Other Foot
by Lasrevinu
Summary: GSR PostSnakes FINISHED
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI.

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Up to and including _Snakes_.

Summary: Post-_Snakes_, GSR

**The Other Foot**

_True love comes quietly, without banners or flashing lights. If you hear bells, get your ears checked._

_--Erich Segal_

Chapter 1

"I'm sorry, Ms. Sidle. There's nothing we can do."

He was the third specialist she had seen in less than a month. And all he did was give the same answers.

It was time to just accept it.

"H-how…how long do I have before…"

"There really is no set time frame for this sort of thing—"

"_How long?_"

"You'll experience significant deterioration in about six months," the doctor answered solemnly.

"And then…"

"By the year's end, you'll be deaf, Ms. Sidle."

* * *

For as long as she could remember, Sara Sidle felt she had a separate self that resided outside of her body, existing solely for the purpose of keeping two steady palms flat against her shoulder blades and giving her a hard push whenever she needed it. The phantom pushed Sara at school, making sure she got top grades in every class. It pushed her in every foster home to not let the loneliness eat her alive. Every time her body screamed for rest on a rare night off, Sara would feel that push, that drive. She would splash cold water on her face and refocus on the police scanner.

When it came to Dr. Gil Grissom, the push was sometimes opposed by a string that pulled from behind, clenching her gut. Pushed, Sara would stumble into his office to blurt out her feelings, and when his mouth would open to answer, the string would pull her out almost as fast as she was pushed in.

But as she stared down at the brochure the doctor had given her for sign language and lip reading lessons at the deaf college, Sara only felt the pull. It seemed as if the string wanted to yank her clear off the western hemisphere to plant her atop Mt. Everest, perhaps, where the natural silence would be unbroken, save for the occasional yak.

She wanted to run.

So she grabbed her cell phone, pressed number one on the speed dial and held her breath waiting for him to answer.

"Grissom."

"Hey. It's Sara," she eked out, suddenly feeling embarrassment wash over her as she remembered their last encounter ended with her confessing more than she intended.

"Sara. Hello," he answered. "Did you want to talk—"

"Listen, I'm not feeling too well," she interrupted hastily. "I don't think I'll be able to come in to work tonight. I know you're short-staffed as it is, but—"

"Never mind about that," he said quickly. "Are you alright? Have you seen a doctor?"

"Uh…yes. Nothing terminal," she said, feebly attempting a joke. "Look, I'll see you tomorrow night. At work."

"Yes, Sara," Grissom breathed. "Are you sure you're okay?"

A tight-lipped smile formed on her face although he was not around to see it. "Fine. I'll be fine."

* * *

Sara searched for her keys in her overstuffed bag, listening for the musical jingle of the metal before locating the key ring and tugging it out. She slid the key into the lock slowly, noting the sound of the grooves as they chugged into the catch. It was almost sensual: fitting the right piece of metal into the right lock, turning just enough to hear a click, and then opening a door. It reminded her of sex. With the right person, with the right fit, doors – _worlds_ – could be opened. And it all began with the perfect key for the perfect lock.

Sara showered and changed, placing the police scanner on her nightstand as she lay prone in bed. But instead of concentrating on the content of the messages passed back and forth, she focused on the volume. Sara reached over and turned it up to ten, wincing at first at the blare of the voices that echoed in her spare bedroom. She stared at the clock. In ten minutes, she lowered the volume down to nine, and continued to decrease it until she got to one, more than an hour later. It was barely audible, but Sara could still make out shreds of conversation. She closed her eyes and sighed, feeling an unexpected tear fall down her left cheek. She wondered if going deaf was like gradually lowering the volume on her life.

She would find out soon enough.

* * *

"_All units!__ I repeat, all units report to the Sands Expo on __Paradise Rd.__ There has been an explosion. Possible terrorist attack. I repeat, possible terrorist attack._"

Sara's eyes sprang open and she pushed herself up to a sitting position, grabbing the scanner and raising the volume. She quickly memorized the dispatcher's information and dressed. All of her gear was in the hallway closet, ready for action at a moments notice. Sara donned her bulletproof vest and strapped on her gun with laser-focused efficiency. She was on CSI autopilot, the push back in full force as she loaded up her SUV and drove to Paradise Rd., flashing her ID to an officer at a police barricade.

After grabbing her kit from the trunk, Sara quickly spotted a familiar form standing in front of the busted doors of a large white van and examining a burn pattern charred on the sidewalk in front of the Sands. He stood up straight and nodded to Ecklie on his right and then turned, immediately locking eyes with Sara.

She walked to him quickly. "Where do you need me?"

Ecklie coughed, but Grissom seemed to ignore him. "I thought you were sick."

"All hands on deck," Sara said, repeating the dispatcher's message.

"I'm happy to see your enthusiasm, Sidle," Ecklie sneered, "but I'm afraid this mess is the work of a group of idiots who have seen _Ocean's Eleven_ one too many times. Tried to break into the casino." Having wasted enough precious time with his underlings, the assistant director of the lab sought the media to assure the city that it was once again safe.

Grissom let out a sigh and adjusted the LVPD ball cap on his head as the rest of the local law enforcement packed up to leave. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Fine. Fine."

"Listen, I—"

A faint hiss had Sara glancing over Grissom's shoulder to the van. He looked at her curiously.

Sara's eyes widened and she acted in instinct, grabbing Grissom by the arm and yanking him.

"Sara?" he said breathlessly as she tugged him.

"_The fuse is still—_"

The blast threw them to the ground, Grissom falling awkwardly on Sara. She felt her shoulder dislocate the moment he slammed into her, but she could do nothing more than wince before her head hit the asphalt.

* * *

She wouldn't remember the sirens or how he refused any treatment and insisted on riding in the ambulance with her, holding her hand as she drifted in and out of consciousness. She wouldn't remember him kissing her forehead as he pleaded with her to hold on.

And she wouldn't remember him whispering 'I love you' before saying goodbye.

* * *

The beam of light from the hot Nevada sun filtered through the window and hit her face. Sara never did get used to sleeping in the day. When she was growing up, the daylight hours were spent studying or working – doing anything to get ahead. She could never bear to waste time in bed. So sleeping – or at least _attempting_ to sleep – while the sun was still out always proved a challenge.

The trill of a cell phone had her sleepily reaching over to her nightstand, but the sharp pain in her shoulder forced her to freeze and suck in a breath.

Sara opened her eyes to find herself in a hospital room, her boss passed out on the chair by her bed. She gingerly sat up, hugging her bandaged arm to her chest.

"Grissom," she whispered. He barely stirred. "Grissom!"

"Huh? What?" he said, blinking wildly.

"You're phone is ringing."

"My phone is ringing," he repeated, a bit disoriented, checking the display. "It's only Ecklie," he sighed, looking up at her. And then, as if he had just noticed, his jaw dropped. "You're awake!"

"Unless this is some weird dream, I guess."

"Do you remember what happened?" he asked, getting out of his chair to stand right up against the hospital bed.

Sara furrowed her brows and thought back.

_There's nothing we can do._

_By the year's end you'll be deaf._

"I, uh…not much," she told him.

"The explosion?" he asked, his fingers reaching out to stroke her chin.

"Explosion? _Oh_. 'All hands on deck.' I remember." Grissom looked relieved as he slid his hand into her hair before dropping it to his side. "There was a noise; the fuse was still lit."

He gently sat down on the edge of her bed, careful not to jostle her. "Sara, you pulled me away from the van before it exploded."

"I-I…I heard the noise," she explained.

"And because you did, you saved my life," he told her. "And to think I always tell you not to listen you that police scanner of yours," he said, trying to make light of it all, but failing miserably. "Sara, I'm not too good with thank yous. I'm much better at apologizing. But…thank you. I owe you—"

"You don't owe me anything," Sara dismissed. "Just…doing my job, boss. Are you alright?" she asked, all at once concerned. "Did you get hurt?"

"You broke my fall. I broke you arm."

_And my heart_, she wanted to tell him. _You broke my heart_.

But she could see he was shaken. Sara noted he was wearing the same clothes from the night of the explosion, though the calendar on the wall indicated that it was two days later. He would've died had she not been there, had she not heard the sizzle of a lit fuse.

_You'll be deaf_.

Sara shivered and Grissom immediately crouched down around her. "Are you cold? Do you feel okay? Get a doctor!" he called out into the hallway.

"Grissom, I'm fine," she assured him.

Nevertheless, a doctor and two nurses came to check on Sara at Grissom's insistence.

"When can I go home?" she asked, feeling claustrophobic with everyone standing around her while she lay in bed. "It's only a broken arm and a bump on the head."

Neither the doctor nor Grissom was persuaded by her argument. "At least three more days and then we'll see," he said, filling in a chart while a nurse fiddled with her IV.

"You don't have to stay here," she told him. "I'm sure there's tons of work to do."

"Sara—"

"Grissom, I'm not going to do anything except sit."

"But—"

"I'm fine."

He regarded her for a moment. "So I've heard."

* * *

Though Grissom seemed to spend every spare minute by Sara's bedside, the time he was at work was an uncomfortable chunk of time for Sara to be alone with her thoughts. She ran over the scenario several times in her head, each time with her hearing giving out at a different point. In six months, the faint hiss of the lit fuse would not have registered, and she and Grissom would have been in body bags had their remains managed to sustain the explosion. And had the botched casino heist taken place in a year's time, she would not have heard the police scanner at all. She'd have to learn secondhand that Grissom had died in the blast. She'd have to watch people stand up at his memorial service to speak of him. She'd have to read their lips to try to keep up with that they were saying.

But she wouldn't have been able to hear herself cry for him.

Then again, that was a sound she was already used to.

It became clear to Sara that she could not continue working, could not continue to endanger Grissom and the rest of her colleagues as her ability to hear became a distant memory. Clark County CSI's were issued guns for a reason: to help protect themselves, their co-workers, and civilians if ever a crime scene becomes unsafe. But Sara knew that a deaf woman with a gun would not make a crime scene any safer.

She had to figure out a way to quit. After briefly considering telling Grissom of her deteriorating condition, Sara shelved the idea. She could live with a lot of things – his anger, his contempt, his denial – but she could not live with his pity. She had to at least keep what little good he thought of her intact. If she couldn't be the love of his life, she could at least be an adequate CSI in his eyes.

Sara Sidle's time in Las Vegas was coming to a close.

* * *

She filled a large watering can and brought it to the windowsill, expecting to see a forest of withering greenery, desperate for a drink of water. But the leaves were still bright green and the soil was surprisingly moist. Sara shrugged her uninjured shoulder. She was immensely glad to be out of the hospital, away from the white noise, the voices hallway and beeps of the machines. Though she knew Grissom had planned on picking her up and bringing her home later in the day, when the doctor told her she was ready to be discharged a few hours early, Sara jumped at the chance. It was a win-win situation: she would be out of the hospital earlier than expected and she could begin her plans to cut ties with Grissom. It was not easy, but it was the only way to preserve her image in his mind.

There was a knock on the door, followed out by the call of her name.

Sara sighed. For some reason, she thought he'd stay away from her apartment. In all the years she had been in Vegas, he had never once visited with her. She always felt that Grissom thought of her home as off limits.

"Sara, open up."

She trudged to the door, tucking the watering can under her good arm, and turned the lock. On his face was not the anger she expected, but pure concern. "You left the hospital early."

"The doctor said I could go."

"You could've called me," he told her.

"It was nothing. I was fine."

"Sara, I – oh, let me get that," Grissom said, noticing the watering can in her arm. "I watered your plants yesterday."

"Oh…thank you."

"Are you hungry? Do you want me to order you some food? I don't think there's much in the fridge. I didn't have time to—"

"Grissom, _relax_," Sara ordered. The man looked like the walking dead. For the past several days he had spent his time either at work or by her side. "When was the last time _you_ had anything to eat? Or slept for that matter?" He didn't answer, so Sara just rolled her eyes and continued. "Why don't you sit down and I'll order some Thai food, okay? Sound good?"

He nodded and walked towards the couch while Sara went into the kitchen to search for the takeout menu. She ordered his favorite and a few appetizers they could share.

"It'll be here in twenty…" Sara's voice died off as she discovered Grissom once again passed out, this time on her living room couch. As best she could, Sara guided his feet up onto the couch until he was completely horizontal before covering him up with a blanket.

She paid for the Thai food and nibbled a bit on it before putting it all in the refrigerator until he woke up. The Vicodin was making her sleepy, but rather than resorting to her bed for a nap, Sara chose the armchair next to the couch where Grissom lay sleeping. He looked so peaceful, so serene. His breathing was steady and low, and she listened to it for as long as she could, committing it to memory so she could replay it in her mind years later when the permanent silence would keep her awake at night.

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

His tossing and turning woke her, had her creeping slowly towards the couch to wipe his sweaty brow with the edge of the blanket.

"Grissom," Sara whispered softly. "Wake up. You're having a nightmare."

His eyes sprang open and at once she was mesmerized by their color, the usual serene blue now a stormy grey. He looked up at her, absolutely lost, and she cradled his face for a moment. "You're okay. It was just a nightmare."

He sat up, embarrassed. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

Sara shook her head and then cocked it to the side, studying him. "Were you dreaming about the explosion?"

Grissom flinched and then looked down at his hands. "It's nothing."

"Hey," she said softly, taking a seat next to him on the couch, "it's not nothing. It's okay to still be scared."

"I'm not scared…for me," he told her, still staring at his hands. "Sara, I keep…I keep seeing you there, lying on the street – unconscious, your head bleeding – and I feel…"

"Helpless?"

He looked up at her, wide-eyed. "Yeah."

"I'm okay," she assured him.

"I still worry."

"I really don't think you're in the right line of work if you're a worrier," Sara joked, giving him a nudge in the ribs with her elbow.

Grissom shook his head. "I'm not kidding, Sara."

She bit her lip and tried to think of the next thing to say, wondering if she should just relieve him of his anxiety and explain that she'd be quitting soon anyway, that he wouldn't have to bother being scared she'd get caught in another explosion or be shot during a drug bust, because that chapter of her life was coming to an end right along with her hearing.

It was the perfect opportunity. She could blame her leaving on the explosion without having to bother going into any medical maladies. It was the perfect ruse.

Except he was still a bit too shaken up.

"How about I get you a glass of water?" Sara suggested. "Do you want the takeout I ordered before? It's in the fridge."

Grissom nodded slowly, and as she walked off, quickly rose from the couch. "Let me help you. You should be the one that's taken care of, not the other way around." She opened her mouth to speak, but he immediately cut her off. "Don't say your fine again. Just…let me do this."

And she did.

* * *

They sat and ate quietly. Sara kept stealing glances at Grissom through her lashes to gauge whether or not he was ready to hear her news. He looked so cute sitting there at her little table and picking at his noodles with chopsticks. They had never dined together alone in all of her time in Vegas; this was the first. And it saddened Sara to know it was most likely the last.

But it had to be. She'd be of no use to him once she lost her hearing. And she didn't want to stay in Las Vegas and witness the slow death of what was left of their relationship.

"Grissom…I've been thinking about work…" she began.

"You don't have to go back."

"What?" she asked, sucking in a breath.

"Take as much time off as you need. I don't want you rushing back," he clarified.

Sara cleared her throat. "Yeah, about that. I was thinking about not…going back."

Grissom looked up from his noodles. "What-what do you mean?"

"I was thinking about leaving work…permanently."

He put his food down on the table. "Are you serious? Why?"

She could feel her heart beat in her ears, could feel the blood flush her face as she tried to respond coherently. "It's just not working for me anymore."

"How?"

"Everything is different," she told him. "I used to go to work so happy – happy to be there, happy to see everybody. And now…"

"Now what?" he croaked.

Sara stared at him, wondering if what she told him was more truth than excuse. She had meant to tell him that the explosion had fucked her up and she didn't want to go back. He couldn't have argued with that. It was the second explosion she'd experience in Las Vegas, and from the looks of things, he could empathize with that. But the push once again had her over-talking, had her blurting out the contents of her mind without the proper filtering.

Buts she couldn't run this time.

"I'm not happy, Grissom."

"What can I do?" he asked earnestly, absolutely terrified.

She chuckled wearily. "It's not you. It's me. There are…changes happening inside me…"

"Changes?" he asked, drawing his brows together. "Sara, are you going through menopause?"

This time she let out a laugh. "No, Grissom. No menopause. It's just…life is different."

"Let me help you work through these changes," he told her, the pleading in his voice beginning to show. "Whatever they are, I'll be there for you."

Sara felt the tears well up and was surprised at how hard she had to work to keep them from falling.

"Is this about the conversation we had a little while ago?"

She smiled, her vision blurred by her watery eyes. "No. Surprisingly no. Grissom, my life isn't the greatest right now," she admitted, "but believe me when I say that you are one of the bright spots."

He had no answer for her, like always. He gaped at her while trying to figure out how to respond.

"I'm going to go put my dish in the sink," she told him, her voice just above a whisper as she grabbed her plate and scurried into the kitchen. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be calm and cool as she let him know she was done with being a CSI.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sara turned on the faucet with her good arm and began washing her plate.

"You shouldn't be doing that."

She turned her head to see Grissom standing with his plate and glass in his hands. He swiftly took over dish duties, gently nudging her to the side.

"You don't have to do that," she told him, but to no avail. Sara just stood there, feeling useless as she watched him wash the dishes. "Look, uh…I'm feeling really tired. I think I'm going to go lay down."

"Okay," he said, putting a plate on the rack beside the sink.

Sara looked at him curiously. He hadn't budged. "And…thanks for stopping by."

"I'll let myself out when I'm done with this," he said, gesturing to the dishes.

"Uh…thanks." Sara hesitated a moment before lightly putting her hand on his shoulder for a moment before leaving the kitchen.

"We'll talk later."

She looked back at him. His eyes were on her, his face somber. Her heart couldn't help but do a flip-flop. He was so cute: sleeves rolled up, elbows deep in sudsy liquid.

"Bye, Grissom."

"Sleep well."

* * *

Sara woke up, disoriented and in pain. She decided against the prescription meds in favor of Advil. The strong stuff made her groggy. According to three Ivy League-educated, highly recommended doctors, she had roughly six months of good hearing left. It couldn't be spent high on Vicodin. 

She sat by her bedroom window and looked out at the night sky. Grissom was probably out in the field, combing through a crime scene. She leaned back and pictured him in his government-issued windbreaker, teaching Greg something new. Sara smiled. She knew Grissom was where he belonged.

But it was not where she belonged, not anymore.

The smile on her face faded. Both Grissom and her work were now off limits. She'd be useless to both before the year was out.

Sara closed her eyes tight and tried her best to shake that feeling off. She needed to be proactive. She needed to do something. She grabbed a pen and pad of paper from a nearby desk.

An old college roommate had tacked up a list titled "Things To Do Before I Die" on their shared bulletin board freshman year. Sara bit her lip and scribbled out her title: _Things To Hear Before I Go Deaf_. She closed her eyes for a moment. It felt good to just let it out, even if it was only on paper. She had a plan again.

Sara managed a smile as she started her list.

_Number 1: Hear both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans at least one more time._ When she was younger, Sara didn't get much of a chance to go to the beach. No one would ever take her there. But she had a conch shell and she would hold it up to her ear and listen to the fake waves when she couldn't sleep at night. When she was thirteen, she gave it to a little girl who had just moved into her foster home. Tiny and scared, Sara knew the six-year-old needed the ocean more than she did.

_Number 2: Attend a performance of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony._ She managed a laugh at that, a nod to a fellow auditory-challenged human being. Ludwig's compositions used to keep her company as she studied into the wee hours of the morning while at Harvard.

Number 3: Hear Grissom tell me he loves me.

Don't get your hopes up.

Sara put down her pen. She knew she'd probably have a better chance of swimming clear across the Pacific than hearing her boss declare his love for her to her face. But then again, her roommate had "Sleep with Bon Jovi" as number six on her list.

She looked at her simple list. It summed her life and what she would miss: The safety of the waves, the friendship of the music, and Grissom.

Sara sighed. Two out of three ain't bad.

* * *

As the sunlight crept into her apartment, Sara began to feel her stomach rumble. Her cupboard was practically bare, and with a dislocated shoulder, she knew the pizza delivery guy would swiftly become her friend for the next few weeks. But it was still morning and she needed something to tide her over until her neighborhood pizza joint was open for business. 

Cereal.

Her old standby. Easy, quick, cheap. It was the perfect food. Some women needed lobster dinners at fancy restaurants, but all Sara needed was Toucan Sam or Lucky the Leprechaun and she was happy as a clam.

She dressed with some care, making sure she didn't exacerbate her already injured shoulder. As she grabbed her purse, Sara heard a soft knock on the door. She peered through the keyhole and saw Grissom waiting patiently in the hallway.

Sara opened the door. "What are you doing here?"

He noted her outfit and the purse in her hand. "Where are you going?"

"The market."

"Sara, you are injured," he reminded her in slow, measured tones. "You can't drive."

"I was going to walk," she told him.

"And how were you planning on carrying your groceries?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I was just getting some cereal and milk. Most takeout places that deliver here are closed this time of day."

Grissom stepped into the apartment. "I can drive you to the supermarket. You can get some real food there. You know…fruits, vegetables."

"Yeah, I've heard of them," she scoffed.

He rolled his eyes and led her out the door. "Let's go."

* * *

It was peculiar to watch Grissom push a cart through the aisles of her local supermarket, asking her what she liked and then quickly taking it off the shelf before she could stretch her good arm to reach for it. She bit back a smile as she watched him load a thin plastic bag with apples, his thick fingers struggling to tie a knot at the top of the bag. Sara didn't even notice when they got to the toiletries aisle, she was enjoying watching him so much. 

He coughed and blushed. "Do you, uh, need anything here?"

She almost laughed. "Not for another two weeks."

Grissom nodded and continued to push the cart. It felt nice doing something so utterly conventional with him. Normal for the two scientists was picking trace fibers off a dead body or grounding up maggots to test for DNA. That was practically passé. But finding the perfect pineapple was a moment to savor.

And savor it Sara did.

* * *

He insisted on carrying all of her bags to her door and helping her put away the groceries. 

"You don't have to, you know."

Grissom didn't bother to answer her as he tore open the bag housing the apples and put them in a nearby fruit bowl on the counter. She had said the same thing when he paid for her groceries, when he loaded them into the car, when he carried them up the stairs.

"Grissom, I'm a big girl," Sara reminded him as she put the milk in the fridge. "You don't need to baby-sit me."

He sighed. "I'm not babysitting you. I'm helping you," he clarified. "You've got one working arm; you've been in an accident."

"You see people worse off every day. Do you by them their groceries, too?"

"That's different. We're friends."

She couldn't help but grimace. "Right." Sara turned back to the fridge and shrugged. "Where's the juice?"

* * *

He watched her eat her cereal from across the table while he sipped his coffee. "I thought Trix were for kids." 

"You're hilarious," she drawled, not bothering to look up from her bowl.

"I want to talk about what you said earlier."

Sara knew what was coming. It was inevitable. You tell your boss you're thinking of quitting in passing, and he's eventually going to bring up the subject while you're enjoying reading about the misadventures of the Trix Rabbit on the back of a cereal box.

"So talk," she said.

"I don't think you should leave," Grissom said simply.

Sara raised her brows. "Really? Well, that's settled then. I'll be back to work tonight."

"I never realized how sarcastic you are."

"Well you learn something new every day." She picked up her bowl and brought it to the sink. "Grissom, I know you don't want the team split up any more than it already is, but believe me, you'll catch a hot case and you won't even notice I'm gone. You'll be way too busy."

He looked hurt. "That's not true."

Sara sat back down in her chair. "Maybe not at first, but…eventually." She propped her chin up on her good hand. "I'm just a girl who works with you. Plenty more where that came from."

Grissom narrowed his eyes, his mouth agape. "Sara…" he breathed.

She shook her head, tilting it to the side. "It's true, Grissom. You've worked at the lab, what? Twenty years? You must've seen dozens of employees come and go. Can you remember all of their names?"

"Sara, that's not the point--"

"Isn't it?" she asked.

"I'd remember _you_."

"I know you will."

He shook his head, confused. "Then why? Why leave?"

"It's…time," she told him, praying her voice remained steady.

"And that's all the answer I'm going to get?"

She vigorously rubbed her temple. "That's the only answer I've _got_," Sara lied.

"It's a bullshit answer," Grissom spat out.

She knew he was right. He usually was. But there was no way Sara was going to lay her cards out on the table. There was too much at stake. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I've disappointed you…in a lot of ways," she said, staring down at her lap. "But I can't be what you want me to be right now."

Sara noticed him shift in his chair. His face had softened as his eyes wandered over her. Before she began to squirm under his gaze, she picked up her coffee cup and brought it to her lips.

"Why don't you go inside? I'll…finish the dishes."

"If _you _ever feel like quitting, I'll hire you as my housekeeper."

Grissom managed a smile and Sara took her coffee cup into the living room. She grabbed the remote and turned on the television, changing channels before settling on "The Wizard of Oz." It was just starting and Dorothy was still in the sepia-toned Kansas, fighting with the tyrannical Mrs. Gulch for her dog.

Grissom eventually wandered into the room, parking next to Sara on the couch. He smelled of Ivory dish soap. They watched in silence as the tornado swept through the countryside, depositing the dreaming Dorothy into Oz.

"That's kind of how I felt when I first got to Vegas," Sara confided as they saw Judy Garland take her first steps onto the yellow brick road. "Everything was so colorful, so flashy. It was a big, strange place and I didn't know anybody."

"You knew me," Grissom reminded her.

"You were always hiding behind the curtain."

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

He had fallen asleep on her couch again.

Sara checked her watch. It was a early in the afternoon, just when the average nightshift employee would be heading to bed. She knew he had to have been working hard at the lab. Grissom was already short employees thanks to Ecklie, and now he would be short one more. Permanently. Sara was not going back. She couldn't. That part of her life was over, and she didn't want to tempt herself by returning to work for a short while only to be ripped away once more when her hearing deteriorated. There was no telling when it would give out. Going back to work would mean putting the team in danger, putting Grissom in danger.

She stared at him.

He looked so at ease, his head resting on a throw pillow, one arm hanging off the couch. Sara momentarily forgot her troubles and smiled at him. She lifted his feet onto the couch so that he'd be more comfortable, and she removed his shoes, placing them on the floor. Sara retrieved the blanket that had covered him only the day before and placed it on him. She wanted to kiss him -- a small kiss -- just to feel her lips press against his skin. He looked so warm and soft. Sara bent down closer to him and inhaled. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she bit back a moan. He smelled nice, too.

_Damn him,_ she thought_. Damn him for smelling nice and looking good._

She gently lifted the arm that had been hanging off the side of the couch, placing it alongside his body. Grissom sighed and smiled to himself, leaving Sara to wonder what he was dreaming.

* * *

Sara had many fantasies about waking up to Gil Grissom, but she never quite had one about waking him up. The nightshift would begin in an hour. However peaceful he seemed while sleeping, Sara knew he wouldn't be too pleased if he awoke to find he was late for work. 

"Grissom," she whispered. "Grissom." She placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a light shake.

His eyes slowly opened and Sara could see disorientation flicker over his face before embarrassment set in.

"You fell asleep," she smiled kindly. "Work starts in an hour." Sara handed him a cup of coffee as he sat up on the couch.

"Thanks," he said, gratefully taking the mug from her hands. "I, uh…I'm sorry."

Sara shook her head. "Don't worry. You were tired."

"I guess I'd better get going. I need to shower and change."

"Yeah, you smell pretty awful."

He looked up at her, wide-eyed.

Sara just laughed. "I'm kidding."

Grissom gave her a small smile and got up from the couch. He looked down at his feet. "Where are my shoes?"

"Dorothy took them. First the Wicked Witch of the East and now you. She's on a crime spree!"

"You really are a joker, Sara," he said, rolling his eyes and noticing his shoes lined up neatly on the floor. She watched him slip them on. Sara couldn't explain it, but it was a very intimate moment watching Grissom do something as mundane as put on his shoes. Couples did that -- witnessed the ordinary goings on of everyday life -- and it warmed her heart in an odd way. She had seen him interrogate suspects and chase down clues and had admired him for it, but seeing him do the ordinary was beginning to make her skin flush. God help her if he ever blew his nose in front of her. She'd have a heart attack.

He found his jacket and slipped it on.

"Do you need anything from outside? Do you want me to rent you a video, maybe?"

"You don't have to," Sara said, shaking her head.

"Come on. What video do you want?" Before she could tell him not to bother, he warned, "If you don't tell me, I'll be forced to pick myself. We could end up watching _The Three Stooges _for hours."

_We?_ Sara managed to hide her alarm. "I trust your judgment. I only have one stipulation."

"And that is?"

"No Meg Ryan."

* * *

Sara cleaned her apartment as best a one-armed woman could. Her list of things to do before she went deaf went into her underwear drawer along with all medical information the doctors had given her pertaining to her disorder. She wasn't taking any chances leaving them out for him to stumble upon. 

At eight in the morning, her home phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Sara."

"Hey, Grissom," she smiled into the receiver. There was noise in the background and she thought she heard Greg's voice from a distance.

"Can I come over later?" he whispered. "Catherine's shift is in the middle of a big case and Ecklie wants all of swing shift and day shift working it. I have to pick up some of the slack."

"Do you need any help?" Sara asked instinctively.

"No," he answered firmly. "I'll see you at around six."

"Cool. I'll order pizza."

"Goodbye, Sara."

"Goodbye."

She hung up the phone, surprised at how disappointed she was that she'd have to wait to see him. He truly was her addiction. She craved being with him, and when she would finally get her fix, all she wanted was more.

* * *

Sara jumped at the knock on her door. She stopped herself from running to open it like an overeager child. After three calming breaths, Sara turned the knob and pulled, finding an exhausted looking Grissom dressed in green scrubs. 

"Contemplating a change in profession? Those are some snazzy threads you've got there."

He rolled his eyes. "I was working the rape case of a teenage girl. When I went to process her at the hospital, she threw up all over me. A doctor gave me these," he said, gesturing to his new outfit.

Sara made a face, feeling bad for both the victim and Grissom. He walked into her apartment and removed his jacket.

"What movie did you rent?"

"Shit," he moaned. "I forgot."

"Don't worry about it," she said with a wave of dismissal. "Sit down, you look dead on your feet."

"I'm only mostly dead," he told her as he sat down on the couch and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

Sara found a seat next to him and sighed. "You know you should keep those scrubs. Women love doctors."

"I _am _a doctor."

"You're a PhD," she clarified.

"Yes, a doctor," he said, his eyes still closed.

"You know what I mean."

"Listen, when you get a PhD, you can decide what you want to be called," he told her. "As for me, I'd like you to refer to me as 'Dr. Grissom' from now on."

"I have a PhD."

Grissom's eyes snapped open and he lifted his head from it's resting spot on the couch. "You do not."

Sara nodded. "I do."

"In what? Theoretical physics?"

"Classical mythology."

His eyes widened. "You're joking."

"Nope."

"Why classical mythology?"

She shrugged. "Why not?" He made a face and she pressed on. "Okay, my life had mainly been math and science. I was a science nerd. So I thought it would be a good…balance…to get a degree in something that didn't require time in a lab. You know, to work the other side of my brain."

"Huh. So you're Dr. Sara."

"Dr. Sidle," she corrected. "Dr. Sara sounds like a talk show host or one of those radio call-in therapists."

He smiled tiredly. "I like Dr. Sara better. I'd call in to your radio show," he said, closing his eyes and yawning.

"What would you say to me?" she asked.

"I'd ask for your advice."

"On what?"

Grissom yawned again. "I'd ask you to tell me how I can keep you here."

Sara stared at her hands in her lap. "I'd make a lousy therapist."

When he didn't answer, she looked over at him. He had fallen asleep. Sara could only sigh and find his blanket.

* * *

While Grissom slept, Sara planned. The time would come when their little sleepovers would end and he'd go back to his job and she'd be deaf. She fished out the brochures the doctor gave her for lip reading and ASL classes. Though Sara did not plan to slowly go deaf in Las Vegas, she thought it best to get an idea of what she would be doing, so she found the college's website and did some research. There were links to other deaf colleges in other states, and Sara began to narrow her focus down to Seattle and Charleston. Both had the facilities she needed once her hearing went, and both were cities she enjoyed when she had visited. The pace wasn't too fast and the people were nice. 

She had a fairly large nest egg -- money saved from years of penny pinching to avoid ever having to depend on anyone for anything. Sara learned one important thing growing up: You can only depend on yourself. That lesson had been honed through years of personal disappointment until Sara had become an independent machine, capable of sustaining herself without a need for true personal contact.

Except with Grissom.

Everyone had an Achilles' heel. He was hers. It amazed Sara how she could go from perfectly happy the way she was to desperately needy for his affection in a heartbeat. The moment she'd determine to not need anyone, he'd smile at her or say something nice and she'd melt in a puddle. Sara never wanted to need anyone. He wasn't part of the plan. Little girls dream of meeting their prince and riding off into the sunset on a white horse. They dream about their wedding days and being Miss America. That wasn't Sara. She shunned all of that.

But when it came to Grissom, Sara's sensibilities flew out the window. She didn't want to suddenly turn into Cinderella or a beauty queen by any means. But after meeting Grissom, being alone seemed…lonely.

* * *

Sara heard the now familiar stirrings of a waking Grissom. She turned the coffeemaker on and walked to the living room just in time to see his eyes open. 

"I guess I did it again."

She raised her eyebrows as he sat up. "I may have to start charging rent," she joked.

He rubbed his eyes. "How long was I out?"

"Eleven hours."

"Jesus," he wheezed. "I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize," Sara said as she went to get him some coffee.

He sipped his coffee and regarded his clothes. "I need to shower and change. Will you come with me?" Sara's eyes widened. "To my house," he clarified. "We can do something. Anything you want. Do you feel up to it?"

"Uh…sure. I guess I'll just…get my shoes on."

Grissom nodded and began pulling his own shoes on. "This is a really comfortable couch," he said in passing.

"I'm ready."

"Let's go."

* * *

His house was just like she remembered it: cluttered but organized. Charming. Grissom. 

Sara expected him to be nervous. The last time she was in his home -- during the Strip Strangler case -- he was ill at ease. When she had asked to use his bathroom, he all but freaked out, as if he were hiding a body in the shower stall. This time, he was different.

"Make yourself at home," he smiled. "I'll be back in ten minutes."

She watched him disappear into the hallway and then took his advice. She wandered around, scanning the bookshelves and the CD rack. A model of the human ear rested above a stack of books. Sara paused and sucked in a breath. She examined the large, medically accurate piece of plastic, carefully tracing the lines with her fingers. It occurred to her suddenly that Grissom knew sign language. She had once asked him how he knew it, but had received no answer. Sara could only chalk up his reaction to the confrontational manner in which she asked the question. She supposed if she asked him now, he would probably just shrug and say, "Some people learn French. I learned ASL."

She wished it were that simple for her.

Sara made her way to the couch and plopped down on it, grabbing a _National Geographic _and thumbing through it. She heard his footsteps, but didn't bother looking up from the article she was reading.

"Interesting?" he asked.

"Eh," she shrugged.

Grissom sat down next to her. "I never realized how uncomfortable my couch is until I sat on yours," he said, fidgeting as he tried to get comfortable.

"Well, I'll give it to you when I leave."

"Sara…"

"Grissom…" she mocked. "Look," she said, putting down the magazine and turning to look at him, "this is it, Grissom. I have to leave."

"But why?"

"Why on earth do I owe you an explanation? I'm not going to give Ecklie an explanation when I resign. I'm not going to bother telling Dr. Cavallo why I'm leaving," she argued.

"But we're friends," he insisted, leaning closer.

"Are we?" she asked coldly. He furrowed his brows and opened his mouth to speak, but Sara held up her hand. "What's my favorite color? How did I get this scar on my shoulder?" She tugged at the neck of her shirt until it exposed the imperfection right above her collarbone.

He just sat their staring, breathing deeply. She knew it was futile to wait for any answers, but she did anyway. He'd never know her favorite color. He'd never know how she got the scar.

But as she sat there waiting, Sara began to realize that no one would know her favorite color. No one would know how she got her scars -- the visible and the invisible.-- because she never got close enough to a person to share her secrets. It wasn't his fault. Or it wasn't only his fault.

And as he stared at her silently, a look of guilt marring his face, Sara took pity on him. "My favorite color is green." Grissom just kept looking at her. "Now it's your turn," she prompted. "What's your favorite color?"

"Uh, blue," he told her, a bit flabbergasted at her change in demeanor.

Sara knew she was leaving soon. She didn't want her last meaningful moments with Grissom to be her bitching him out for not trying hard enough. She knew he'd always wonder why she left, and she didn't want him to feel like he had driven her off. Truth be told, it was his presence, though sometimes exasperating, that had kept her in Las Vegas for so long.

"I got this scar when my mother's boyfriend hit me with a broken beer bottle."

His hand flew to her shoulder, slipping under the fabric to touch the raised, rippled skin as he frowned. Grissom peeled the side of her shirt down to get a better look at it. He ran his thumb over it, staring at the scar for the longest time.

"Now…now you go," she said, barely above a whisper. "Tell me one of your secrets."

He didn't let go of her shoulder as he met her eyes.

"My mother is deaf."

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: First of all, thank you for the reviews. Second of all, a lot of…stuff has happened on CSI since I last updated (from _Nesting Dolls _to _King Baby_), and for the sake of this story, let's just pretend it didn't happen. Denial. It's a good thing.

Chapter 5

"Excuse me?"

"Tell me another secret," he said, ignoring her confusion.

Sara was too stunned to do anything but answer him. "I-I grew up in foster homes."

There was something sharp in the look in his eyes. She didn't know if it was realization or guilt or a combination of both. "Your turn," she whispered.

Grissom stared at his hands for a moment before lifting his gaze to hers. "I didn't recommend you for the promotion because I was afraid of what people would say."

Sara felt her breathing get very shallow, felt her heartbeat in her ears. "What did you think they would say?"

"That I recommended you so you'd sleep with me."

She bit her lip and turned her head. She couldn't look at him. She wanted to smack him. He needed to be smacked. Hard. It killed her that his fear had held her back professionally. Sara had been reeling from the personal hardships caused by his fear for years, but to hear concrete proof that he had let it interfere with her work, the only thing she had left…

Sara closed her eyes. It was a moot point. When the silence came, work would be gone, too. She knew she had better just get used to the disappointment.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, clearly ashamed.

"It's fine."

Grissom leaned closer to her. "No, it's not. Sara, I understand that you're not happy at work and I know it's my fault. Please, give me a chance to make it up to you. Just…please. Don't go."

She smiled dejectedly and shook her head. She leaned back on the couch, her neck grazing the arm Grissom had stretched out along the top of the sofa. "So that's how you know sign language," Sara sighed. "Your mother."

"Yes."

"Was it hard to learn?" she inquired as casually as she could.

"I was little. Kids learn languages easily," Grissom shrugged. "It was normal for me."

Sara could feel his fingers absentmindedly playing with her hair. "Was it hard for her? Being deaf, I mean."

"Well, it wasn't easy," he told her. "But…but I don't think she would change who she is. I know I wouldn't. I learned so much from her. My dad left when I was five. She did everything by herself."

Sara sighed and thought of her own mother, thought of what she had learned from the scant years of living with Laura Sidle. And the best lesson Sara learned, albeit indirectly, from her mother was that you cannot depend on anybody. Dependency leads to arguments, trips to the hospital, visits from social services. As long as you could rely on yourself, you'd be fine.

But as Grissom stroked the baby fine hair on her nape, Sara wanted so badly to throw years of learned behavior out the window and curl up on his lap, to have him deal with her problems instead of facing them by herself.

"What was it like growing up in foster homes?"

Sara looked up at him and then away. "Like…being on a permanent camping trip. I never really unpacked my stuff completely. I always knew I would just have to repack it."

"Did…did anyone mistreat you?"

She made eye contact with him once again. Sara could tell how difficult it was for Grissom to ask her that, how painful it was for him to picture her being abused. She immediately alleviated some of his stress by shaking her head. "It wasn't so bad. I was never in one place long enough to really piss anyone off," she smiled bleakly.

He grimaced.

Sara just shrugged. "It's funny but…I've spent five years in Las Vegas and I still don't feel like I've unpacked yet."

"Sara…"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not staying. I'm not. I don't like it here. I don't like the slot machines in the supermarkets. I don't like the strip clubs and the whorehouses and the casinos packed with gambling addicts. And I fucking hate neon lights."

Grissom raised his eyebrows. "I wish I had known you felt this way."

"Well, now you do."

"Sara, there is more to Las Vegas than casinos and legalized prostitution," he argued softly. "I could show you things far beyond mere tourist attractions."

"_You_."

"Excuse me?"

"You were the main attraction in Las Vegas…at least for me when I moved here," she told him almost bitterly. "Man, that sounds pathetic. But it's the truth. And now…now it's time to move on."

It took several moments before Grissom could find his voice. "So…you've moved on?"

"I've wised up."

* * *

He drove her back home. Nothing was said in the car, although Sara stole glances at Grissom as he kept his eyes trained on the road. She hadn't meant to make it personal. Now he would forever think she left Vegas because he wouldn't date her when all she initially meant to do was clear his mind and make him feel better about her leaving. He had been trying so hard to be nice, trying harder than he had in the past four years. Grissom's actions over the past few days would've glued Sara to his side forever had her hearing not been an issue. 

But an issue it was.

He had dealt with the deafness of his mother for what Sara could only assume was the bulk of his life. She was sure Grissom would not feel any prejudice towards her if he were to find out about her condition. The knowledge about his mother should have soothed Sara, but it only made her more anxious to leave. She suspected the attachment he had for his mother would make Grissom feel obligated to be a part of her own hearing loss. That was the last thing Sara wanted to experience: his pity. She was sure now that he would stick by her, help her learn ASL, not leave her alone like his father left his mother.

Sara couldn't let that happen. If she left with him mad at her, then so be it. It was better than him feeling sorry for her.

Grissom pulled up in front of her apartment building.

"I think we should just say 'Goodbye' now, Grissom. Get it over with, you know?"

For the first time since they'd got in the car, he looked at her, his mouth agape. "I'm not going to see you again?"

"I don't see the point," Sara said softly. "I'll fax my resignation letters to the proper places. There's nothing of value in my locker at work. It'll be easier this way."

He fixed his gaze on the windshield once more. "It's not like you to take the easy way out."

"I've been doing it the hard way for years, Grissom." Because Sara didn't want those to be the last words she ever spoke to him, she reached out with her good arm and grasped one of his hands. "I'm glad you were in my life."

She squeezed his hand and then opened the passenger side door, stepping out onto the paved road.

"Sara," she heard Grissom exhale.

Against her better judgment, she turned to look at him. "Yes?"

"I'll see you later."

TBC…


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

It had been more than twenty-four hours since he had dropped her off at her apartment, but Sara had received no word from Grissom. As she trudged from her bedroom to the bathroom after a few fitful hours of sleep, Sara began to seriously question what she had been so sure about only a day before. She had told him goodbye, and though he didn't seem to accept it at the time, he hadn't made any attempt to contact her. Though her head told her it was for the best, Sara felt a sickness in her stomach at the thought of not seeing Grissom again, not hearing his voice, not watching him doze off on her couch.

She shook her head as she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror: face too pale, dark circles under her eyes, hair a curly mess.

"Sara Sidle," she said to her reflection, "today is the first day of the rest of your life."

She stripped out of her fluffy bathrobe and pajamas and hopped in the shower. The jolt of hot water invigorated Sara momentarily, but the tension returned quickly as she mentally went through the list of challenges she was to face in the coming year. It was one obstacle after another: learn ASL and lip reading, find a new home, move, get used to a new city. Live life as a deaf woman. Sara shut her eyes tight and concentrated on the sound of the running water.

When she finished her shower, Sara wrapped a towel around herself and checked her reflection once more. The hot water had tinged her skin pink and her unruly hair was slicked back. The circles under her eyes were there, but less prominent.

She padded to her room and found a clean pair of pajamas to change into. All she wanted to do was crawl back into bed and wish the world away.

A knock on the door kept her from pulling back the covers.

Sara knew who it was. She didn't bother looking through the peephole.

"I thought we said our goodbyes," she told him, partially upset and partially exhilarated to see him.

Grissom stared at her, unblinking, for several moments. "I never said goodbye."

She resisted fidgeting and looked him straight in the eye. "So is that why you've come…to say goodbye, I mean."

He tilted his head and made a face. "Get dressed. We're going out."

"What? Where?"

Grissom stepped in from the doorway and took her gently by her good arm, pushing her in the direction of her bedroom. "I'm going to do what I should've done five years ago."

Sara swallowed. "What's that?"

"I'm going to show you around town."

Too stunned to answer him back, Sara had dressed quickly, drying her hair to the best of her ability. Straightening it was out of the question, so she just swooped her messy mop of curls in a ponytail and hoped she didn't look like a second grader.

He smiled at her as she walked to him. "Shall we?"

"Shall we, what?"

"Shall we go, Sara?"

"Go where?"

"You ask too many questions," he sighed, plucking her keys from inside of her bag as they walked out the door so he could lock it. "Just trust me."

* * *

Sara sat in the passenger seat of his SUV quietly. He said he was going to show her the town. How many times had she wished for that when she first arrived in Vegas? She came because he asked her. She had been up for a promotion in San Francisco when he called her to investigate Warrick's involvement in the death of Holly Gribbs. The moment Sara hung up the phone, she dropped the murder case she had been working to fly down to Vegas and help Grissom. It had seemed so simple. He told her he needed her and that was it; she was on a plane. 

Sara wasn't exactly sure what she had expected from Grissom when she first arrived in Las Vegas, but she certainly didn't expect it to end up where it did. Out of the corner of her eye, she stole a glance at him. She tried to look at him objectively. He was close to fifty, graying, and not quite at slim as he used to be. He had wrinkles where his skin was once smooth. And his facial hair left something to be desired. When she first saw him with a beard, Sara was quite impressed, but as time wore on, she missed his face. His dark beard was hiding the soft skin she once touched, albeit briefly.

She sighed and dropped her hands in her lap. She was being pathetic. She had no claim on him, or his face. He was just…her boss.

"We're almost there," Grissom said, driving down Tropicana Avenue as the sun began to set.

"You know, I'm not going to bother asking. I'll just find out when we get there."

"Well, we're here."

"Hallelujah," she said dryly. "Thank the…oh…my…God."

Grissom beamed at her.

Sara shook her head. "No."

"Yes."

"Are you trying to tell me something? About your…preferences?"

He narrowed his eyes at her.

Sara stared back, but eventually relented. "I'll go, but I won't like it. Rhinestones aren't really my thing."

"Sara, Liberace was one of the great entertainers of our time..."

"And I'm sure you were right up his alley" she muttered under her breath.

"...so how better to learn about him than a museum dedicated to his…fashion sense?" Grissom continued, wincing a bit.

"So, you're a fan?"

"No. Brass told me about it. It's kitsch. We're in Vegas."

They got out of the car. "When in Rome, I guess." But something on the entrance to the museum had Sara stopping in her tracks. "Um…the museum closes at five. It's already six thirty."

Grissom grabbed her elbow and led her through the door. "Oh, ye of little faith. I know a guy. We have the place to ourselves."

"Oh joy."

It did turn out to be a joy. The pair of criminalists laughed at sheer gaudiness of it all, the sequined jumpsuits, the lavishly embroidered capes.

"How much would it take for you to wear one of those outfits?" Sara asked, nudging Grissom in the ribs as they passed a shiny white jumpsuit complete with lace cravat.

"You couldn't pay me to wear that."

"Would you wear it for world peace?" she asked.

"Sara, I don't think me wearing one of Liberace's 'outfits' will bring about world peace," he told her incredulously.

"Pretend for a minute," she said, rolling her eyes. "Would you wear one of Liberace's getups for world peace?"

"Okay…yes," he admitted. "But not, like, world peace for five minutes and then back to chaos. This would have to be everlasting world peace."

Sara giggled. "Would you…wear it for a cure for cancer?"

"Yes."

"What about athlete's foot?"

"_No_."

"If I needed a kidney and the only way I could get one is if you wore one of the sequined jumpsuits, including the cape _and _the rings…would you?"

"All right, yes. For you, yes."

_Would you wear it to keep me from going deaf? _She wanted to ask that, not to see what his answer would be, but to see his reaction.

But Sara kept that to herself.

"Are you alright, Sara?"

She looked up at him, a smile frozen on her face. "Yes. Fine. Where were we? Oh, you were telling me how much you wanted to try on that little pink number with the feathers," she joked as they walked down the stretch of corridor. "Now, I don't think they'd let you try on _these_, but I'm sure we can rent you a cute little number this _is _Vegas, you know that'll fit you just fine."

"I'm sure we could," he told her, his right hand momentarily passing over her back before dropping once again to his side. "We could, but we won't."

Sara laughed. "I'm having a nice time. Thanks."

"The night's not over, Sara."

TBC…


	7. Chapter 7

Rating: R Rating change!

Chapter 7

"You're taking me to the body farm?"

He furrowed his brows. "You don't want to go to the body farm?"

Sara thought for a moment. "I do. It's just…are we allowed to just pop in there? It's not like the opera or something."

Grissom nodded as he got out of the car. "I know. You don't need tickets."

The security guard waved them though the gate and the pair of criminalists walked onto the extensive grounds of the body farm. It was silent, just as Sara had expected. The sun had gone down, but the moon was more than enough to illuminate the bloated corpse that lay before them in what could only be described as a miniature swamp.

"The body farm was erected in 1968. It was originally a smaller patch of land about four acres but the university expanded it in conjunction with the city," he informed her.

"Grissom, I don't need a lecture," she sighed. He closed his mouth quickly and Sara winced. "I'm sorry. It's just…you don't have to entertain me or do or say anything."

They were quiet as they wandered past the different staged scenes, each with variously decaying bodies. Only Grissom would have thought to take her to the body farm. As they stopped to observe two corpses in a car, Sara idly wondered if she could take a job at a body farm when she moved. The was a body farm in Washington near the university. Recording the decay of dead bodies and staging experiments didn't seem to require the same amount of listening skills as interrogating a suspect or manning a crime scene.

And it was quiet here. Sara stared at the two bodies in the pickup truck. She wouldn't be missing out on anything. _Especially sparkling conversation_, she thought to herself, unable to hold back a snort.

"Something funny?"

"I, uh…no. I was just thinking of what it would be like to work here," she told him, biting her lower lip.

Grissom turned his head to look at her. "Do you want a job at the body farm? I could get you one. You could stay in Vegas and work here."

Sara shook her head slowly. "I don't think so. I'm not…made for Vegas."

"What does that mean?"

She shrugged. "Oh, you know…Las Vegas is all about showgirls and glamour and gambling. That's not me. Catherine is Vegas. Warrick is Vegas. I'm…"

"Don't say Reno."

"I wasn't going to say Reno. I'm Middle-of-Nowheresville. The entire population of the town I grew up in could fit in the Bellagio with room to spare."

"That doesn't mean any thing, Sara. People aren't born where they're supposed to stay," he told her.

She said nothing as they walked on. He was right, to a degree. She didn't want to move back to her hometown, but she didn't want to stay where she was. For a moment, Sara wondered if it was just in her nature to be restless. When she was little, she wanted so badly to grow up and leave home. Life in foster care was a waiting game as well. College felt like limbo. She was on her own then, something Sara appreciated dearly, but she still felt like a nomad, ready to pick up and leave at a moment's notice.

She supposed it was that characteristic that helped bring her to Las Vegas. She left San Francisco in a heartbeat no tearful goodbyes or going away parties to speak of. Sara didn't know why she expected different from Las Vegas. Or did she.

It hurt her pride to admit that the reason she had hoped her life in Nevada would be different from life anywhere else was because of a man. Sara had always compartmentalized personal relationships and placed them behind work on her list of priorities. But she met Grissom and work was suddenly dictated by her attraction to him. It was as if he had opened her own little Pandora's box, unleashing all of the emotion Sara had been determined to keep in check. And at the bottom of the box, just like in the myth, was hope. No matter what he did to her, no matter what she did to him, Sara always held out hope for Grissom. It pained her that still, knowing she was going to leave him knowing she _had _to she still hoped he would reach out and hold her hand, would bend to kiss her cheek and stroke her hair.

But he just walked on to the next scene.

It was all for the best, she surmised, trudging along after him. The doctors had no hope for her hearing. All she could do was move on and be restless in another city.

By the time they made it back to the car, it was past eleven. "I finally figured out what city you are," Grissom said as he turned the key in the ignition.

"Please don't try to be nice and say Paris."

"You? Easily seized? No."

Sara cocked her head to the side. "What, then?"

"Vienna."

"War torn," she scoffed.

"And all the more beautiful because of it."

She was always silent after his compliments. They seemed more intended to knock the wind out of her than to praise.

"Ever been there?" he asked.

"I've never been anywhere."

He said nothing. Sara was oddly satisfied. She shut him up for once.

They drove back to the city. Sara played with the radio before settling on classical. The soft Vivaldi wafted through the car and enveloped her.

Grissom cleared his throat. "You hungry?"

She shifted in her seat. "Yeah."

He nodded and drove on. Sara relaxed back in her seat until she noticed Grissom turn South, away from the direction of her apartment.

"Where are we going?" she asked, sitting up.

"To eat," he replied simply. Grissom turned on Nellis Blvd. and continued South.

Sara squinted her eyes and looked out her window.

"Las _Vegan_?"

"It's a restaurant," he explained. "I thought you'd like it."

She was perplexed. When he had asked her if she was hungry, she thought he meant takeout at her apartment. They had never eaten out together alone in Vegas. Sara had always assumed Grissom felt that would be too much like a date. The thought made her freeze.

__

Was this a date?

He had gone out of his way to entertain her. Sara looked him over out of the corner of her eye. He was wearing a leather jacket and pants that were decidedly less billowy than the ones he wore to work. He smelled nice. And he was paying attention to her.

Sara swallowed hard. Every instinct in her body told her to go with it, to grab his hand as they walked from the parking lot to the restaurant, to lean into him as they waited for the maître d' to seat them. She could run her foot up his calf as they looked at their menus. She could excuse herself to go to the bathroom and, while she passes him on her way, whisper in his ear a suggestion to leave early, and walk away knowing his blood was boiling.

But she couldn't do that to him, not when she knew there was no way it could last. She was moving away, going deaf. Sara mentally catalogued all the things Grissom would miss out on by being with her: he'd have to relocate and leave the job he loved, he'd have to adjust his life to accommodate her impending disability. She couldn't ask that of him. She wouldn't be his burden.

They were seated quickly and Sara immediately immersed herself in the menu. It gratified her to no end that he remembered that she was a vegetarian, and that he gave enough care to find a restaurant that catered specifically to her needs. He was trying so hard.

"What are you going to order?"

She looked up at Grissom. "I think the eggplant parmesan. That looks good."

"I'll have that, too."

They were quiet until the waiter came. Grissom took command and ordered for the both of them, including some appetizers and a bottle of red wine. The moment the waiter left, Grissom's eyes widened.

"I'm sorry."

Sara put down her ice water. "Sorry about what?"

"I ordered wine," he said nervously.

"Don't worry about it. I still drink, only in moderation," she assured him.

"Okay," he said, fidgeting. "Are you…doing okay?"

Sara knew she should give him a reassuring "Fine" and then change the subject to the new technological advances in forensics or the unusual amount of rain they were been having.

"Sara?"

"No. I'm not. I'm not okay." She immediately cursed herself.

Grissom bit his lip and then leaned closer. "Do you want to leave so we can talk about it?" His hand reached out to skim over hers.

"No," she said firmly. "You asked if I was okay and I'm not. I want to leave Las Vegas. I need to." He inhaled sharply, but Sara continued. "You are being so nice to me and I…appreciate it. You have no idea how much. And I know for some reason your want me to stay. I would if I could, but _believe me,_ I can't."

"But why?"

He looked at her so tenderly. She had never seen him so vulnerable, not even when he was confessing his feelings for her to a killer in an interrogation room. Sara knew at that very moment he would do anything for her. If she told him she was going deaf, he'd probably spend the rest of his life taking care of her. He was attracted to her, and his fear of losing her was great. It could tie her to him, and once the fear of losing subsided, the bonds of duty would keep him by her side.

Sara didn't want that. She didn't want him to feel obligated, to waste his life on her. He was getting on in years, true, but he was still extremely attractive to the opposite sex. She had been to crime scenes with Nick and Warrick, but neither garnered the same reactions from females as Grissom did. They didn't stare at his good looks or coo at his charm, but there was something about him that made women want to be near him, to figure him out. And the most amazing part was that the man had no idea how adorable he was.

"Grissom," she sighed, "can we just enjoy dinner now? Can we pretend that I'm not me and you're not you and just be happy? Real life will be waiting for us when we're done."

"If that's what you want, Sara," he said solemnly.

"I want."

He waited until they were in car to bring up the subject again. They were close her apartment when he glanced at her at a light. "I don't want you to go. You know that."

"I know that."

Grissom didn't say anything until he pulled into a parking space at her apartment complex. "Do you know where you're going to move to?" he asked quietly, eyes focused on the windshield.

"Washington."

"D.C.?"

"State," she corrected.

"Oh."

Sara unbuckled and prepared herself for their goodbye. She didn't want to cry. She didn't think she could stop once the first tear fell.

Grissom grabbed her good forearm and held her still. "I'm going with you."

His eyes met hers.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm going, too. To Washington." He was dead serious.

Sara felt the wind leave her lungs, choking her. "I'm sorry…what?"

One hand was still on her forearm while the other nimbly reached to cup her neck and bring her mouth to his. Any tentativeness from earlier in the evening was gone. His tongue was in her mouth and for a dim moment, Sara thought of how odd it was that the tongue she had seen so many times lick his lips as he concentrated was now sweeping past her own, pushing against it, daring it to push back. She couldn't help herself. His beard brushed up against his face, tickling at first, but later scraping as the kiss got more intense. He yanked her onto his lap and held her face in his hands as he nibbled on her lips.

Sara leaned forward, pushing him back against the headrest as she took over the kiss. She chewed on his lower lip for a moment before moving to his chin. With one hand, she did her best to open the top button of his dress shirt to gain access to his neck. She felt rather than heard him suck in a breath as she attacked the skin under his collar. Grissom's hands roamed her ass as she licked at his throat. His fingers moved up to trail along her waistband before slipping into her pants. He passed the strings of her thong and hit skin, bucking up momentarily. One hand remained on her ass while the other moved around the front to undo the button and lower the zipper. He pulled her pants and underwear down around her hips as best he could and growled when his fingers found her soft, wet skin.

Both hands on his shoulders, Sara pushed herself back against the steering wheel and moaned, wiggling her hips in time with his fingers. "Jesus Christ," she wheezed.

"You know I love you, right?" he breathed, dazed at the sight of her.

"I know."

"I'm going with you."

She bit her lip, but didn't answer him. Her cheeks were bright red. Grissom reached up with one hand to turn the light on before slipping it up her shirt to squeeze a breast as she began to pulse around his fingers.

"I'm going with you," he repeated.

TBC…


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Sara fell forward, slumped against his shoulder. She could barely catch her breath. Grissom clumsily kissed her ear and pulled her pants up around her waist. His fingers massaged the small of her back as his lips returned to her ear.

"I need you," he whispered.

Sara was facing a crisis of conscience. He had told her he was going with her, but there was no way she could let him leave everything he had worked to earn for the great unknown with her. She would have to let him go for his own good.

But Grissom was pulling her hips against him and whispering his need. Sara kissed him hard and opened the car door, grabbing his hand to follow. She was shaking as she pulled her keys from her bag and slid them in the lock. Grissom pressed the front of his body along her back and put his hand on top of hers, turning the key with her. The moment they were safely in the apartment, the whirlwind started again. From behind her, he pulled off her jacket and his own, throwing them on the couch as he steered them to her bedroom.

"After all that time on your couch, I've finally graduated to your bed," he said huskily, the last words spoken for a long while. Grissom was on edge; she could see it. He had brought her to climax in the car, and though he could have easily just flipped her over on the front seat and taken her, he waited until they were in her apartment. The poor guy was horny. Sara made quick work of her clothes and felt her mouth water as he shed his. They fell onto the bed so hard she was sure the mattress would break. But it only groaned in protest as they started to move. Sara concentrated on the sounds they were making. It was pure, Grade A, unadulterated porn. If she hadn't been so busy moaning, she would have giggled at the grunts and growls coming out of the proper Dr. Grissom. Every so often, their eyes would meet and he'd dip his head down to hers for a kiss. It always started out gentle, in direct contrast to what was going on with the lower halves of their bodies, but soon they'd both press harder and tongues would meet, the wet slurping noises only adding to the overall lewdness.

The neighbors would no doubt complain, but she didn't mind. She would be leaving soon anyway.

Sara bit down on his shoulder the moment she began to pulse around him, igniting his climax. Their movements slowed to sloppy jerks and thrusts, the wetness of their bodies easing any friction.

Grissom pulled off of her and held her close, encircling her in his arms. Sara knew she'd have to let him go in the morning, but she couldn't let him sleep without knowing the truth.

"I love you," she said, so quietly she wasn't sure if he heard it.

He climbed back on top of her quickly and Sara froze. Grissom stared at her for a good long minute and then bent his head to kiss her collarbone. He kept moving South until his lips covered her heart. There he stayed, pressing kisses in time with her heartbeat until she fell asleep.

She could still feel the moistness of his mouth on her breastbone when she woke two hours later. He was half on top of her and half on the mattress. Sara carefully extracted herself from their embrace and got out of bed without waking Grissom. She stared at his sleeping form for a moment. He looked incredibly sweet and innocent with his eyes closed and his mouth relaxed. Sara felt a dual pang of longing and guilt. She loved him, but she would have to leave him. After covering him with a sheet, she soundlessly tip-toed to her dresser for something to wear. As she pulled out a thin cotton slip, Sara saw the list she had made the week before. The one thing she accomplished on it was the one thing she thought would never happen: _Hear Grissom tell me he loves me_.

She had known he loved her. Too many feelings passed between them for one not to be love. But to hear him admit it to her and to himself made Sara's eyes tear up. Before she started sniffling loudly, she pulled on the short slip and walked to the kitchen, closing the bedroom door behind her.

Sara made some tea for herself, making sure to take the kettle off of the stove as soon as it started to whistle. She sat down at her kitchen table in the dark, letting the mug warm her cold hands.

A shadow moved in her line of vision and Sara looked up. Grissom was standing there in his boxers, looking very adorable and disheveled.

She straightened up in her chair. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

He shook his head. "What's wrong?"

"There's some hot water on the stove if you want any tea."

"I'm fine," he said, walking over to her. Grissom touched her shoulder and Sara wanted nothing more than to reach up and hold his hand, but she kept her grip firmly on the mug.

He took his seat across from her. "I'm actually looking forward to moving," Grissom said, smiling.

Sara numbly nodded her head.

"When did you want to leave? Right away?"

"My letter of resignation is saved on my computer," she told him, her eyes on the cooling tea in her hands.

"Do you want to call a realtor in Washington?"

Sara shrugged.

"You don't want me to go with you, do you?'

TBC…


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Sara wasn't sure how to answer him. She wasn't sure what her answer was. _Did she want him to go with her?_ From the moment she laid eyes on Gil Grissom, Sara wanted to know him better. Her goal in coming to Las Vegas, besides building her career, was to figure out if they could make each other happy. And as she smiled with him and watched the dummies fall from the roof of a hotel, she was pretty sure he was all she'd ever need.

But five years of waiting had chipped away at Sara's sense of security. She still wanted him and knew that would never change. The reality of it, however, was another story. Her life would not be a fairytale. When Sara was a child, she couldn't afford to believe in them, and she found it was likewise as an adult. If he came with her, Grissom would no doubt take care of her; he'd love her and teach her ASL, keep her company as her world slipped into silence. He'd find a great job and do what he loved. Sara pictured him, a celebrated entomologist of the Seattle area, rubbing elbows with the mayor and the chief of police at a party held in his honor. He'd look gorgeous in his tuxedo. In his own sweetly shy, charming way, he'd captivate his small audience, just like he had captivated her at first meeting. She'd watch from a corner of the room, nursing a cocktail, deaf to everything but the pounding in her head as a pretty, young co-worker of his, an intern at the lab, would brush up against him, touch his shoulder and lean into him as she laughed as his joke. Sara would watch, eyes narrowed, and order another drink.

But then he'd turn his head, lock eyes with her and smile. He'd dislodge himself from the hussy and walk over to her, sharing her small corner of the room, perhaps taking a sip of her drink before pulling her closer to him. He'd earnestly try to keep her entertained, forsaking the powerful people at the other side of the room for his deaf girlfriend sulking in the corner who couldn't laugh at his jokes because she couldn't hear them.

Sara couldn't do that to Grissom. She wanted him to lead a happy life, a fulfilled one. That wouldn't happen if he stayed with her. He deserved better, and it wouldn't be long before he would figure that out. She didn't think he'd leave her, especially considering his mother, but Sara's pride couldn't bear the thought of him staying with her out of duty.

"Honey?" His voice was barely above a whisper. He stood in front of her in his boxers with a look of fear on his face. Sara had never seen Grissom scared. She had seen him angry, jealous, elated, and, thanks to the previous night, horny, but not afraid.

"Why now?"

"Excuse me?" he breathed.

"Why the rush to be with me now?" she asked. "I've been here for five years practically waiting for you to jump my bones." The coarseness of her language seemed to take him by surprise, but Sara didn't have the patience for timidity. "All you ever had to do was say, 'Sara, let's go to my place after work.' You're not stupid; you had to know that I would have done anything you asked."

"Sara, I…"

"So why now?" she shrieked, her voice piercing through the air. "Why, when I'm all set to go? When I'm determined for the first time in a long time to live without you? Do you have some kind of radar? Why now?"

"I don't know…you almost died; I almost died," he mumbled, painfully reliving it all. "I got to the point where I forgot why I couldn't be with you and remembered why I should. I love you, Sara."

"I know."

"And you love me," he said tentatively.

"Love was never the problem. I've always loved you."

"So, what then?"

Sara looked up at him, her eyes locking on his. "Life isn't that simple."

"But what if it is?" he asked. "We've been living life the hard way and where has it gotten us? What if it's all just as simple as picking up and leaving, starting our new life together?"

Sara pounded her fist on the table. "Because I'm going _deaf_, you idiot!" She immediately clasped her hands to her mouth in shock.

Grissom stood stock-still. "What are you talking about?"

"Son of a bitch," she muttered to herself.

"Sara?" He inched his way over to her. The moment he put his hand on her shoulder, she broke down. The sobs seemed to take over her body, and he stayed close as she turned into a heap of convulsing flesh, the dampness of her tears staining her face and the kitchen table. "Deaf?" he choked out.

She nodded, her eyes squeezed shut as she continued to cry.

"When?"

Sara finally managed to part her eyelids enough to make out his face. "Soon."

"And is there anything we can do?" Grissom asked quickly.

She shook her head and he hugged her tight. He silently lifted her out of the chair and brought her to the bedroom. It took Sara a moment to realize she was in his arms. He carried her with an ease she had not thought possible. He placed her gently on the bed and sat back, his hand on her cheek. Sara closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of Grissom's thumb as it rubbed small circles at her temple.

"Honey?"

She looked up at him, wet lashes framing dark, sad eyes.

"I have to go do something," he whispered. "I'll be back in a half hour. I just need to do something."

Sara looked up at him, confused, but he just pressed his lips to hers for a single, soft moment. He sat back, holding both of her hands tight and bringing them to his mouth. "I'll be back."

She fell into a fitful rest. The tears had taken a lot out of her, and while the release had been a long time coming, Sara felt only more confused now that her secret was out. She dreamed of him. He was signing to her, faster and faster. She couldn't keep up. His fingers were so quick and hers so slow. She tried to move them, but it was impossible, as if they were caught in a vise.

"Sara?"

She opened her eyes and looked down at their intertwined hands resting on her chest. Out of the corner of her eyes, Sara could see a small suitcase propped up against her closet door. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and stared groggily at Grissom.

"I went to my house. I brought some clothes and…" He bit his lip and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a manila envelope. "Do you remember when we met?"

Sara cleared her throat and nodded. She gave him a small smile as she remembered the day she first laid eyes on him. She was barely twenty-five and an eager young CSI Level 1, working for the San Francisco Crime Lab.

"You were so young, so gorgeous," he confessed. "Sara, I've met so many people at so many seminars, but you…well, saying you stood out would be an understatement. You smiled; you came up to talk to me." He sighed for a moment as he remembered. "I'm not…good with people. But I found myself standing there, listening to you talk about the life cycle of blowflies, and wishing I was good enough for you."

Sara sniffled and wiped her nose. Grissom reached for a tissue on her nightstand and continued. "I kept in touch with you because I needed to. I told myself I was just helping a promising CSI, but it was for my own selfish reasons. I wanted to be near you. I have all of our e-mails. Eight years worth." He reached into the envelope and then paused. "Do you remember when I visited San Francisco on a case in '97? Right before Christmas?"

She thought for a moment. "The killer had ties to the mob in Vegas."

"Yes," he said. "I worked that case with Brass and Catherine; Brass was the primary. When I found out the trail led to San Francisco, I marched into Brass' office and told him I wanted to go. I made up some bullshit story about needing a vacation, needing to get away. I told him I'd finish the case there and then take some time off. I needed to see you again."

She leaned back against the headboard as she remembered. She had picked him up from the airport, excited beyond belief to see him again.

"Right after we wrapped the case, the lab there threw the office Christmas party. I stayed because…I wanted to be near you." He pulled his hand out of the envelope. Sara sat up straight and grabbed the photograph from his fingers. "One of your co-workers took this. Do you remember?"

Sara looked up and nodded before returning her attention to the picture. They both looked so young, so happy. His face was clean-shaven and he was wearing a blue button-down shirt, and though it was cliché to say, it brought out the color in his eyes. She sighed for a moment. Dirt brown could bring out the color of his eyes. She looked young as well, wearing a simple party dress and her hair up in chopsticks. The dress was probably still hanging up in her closet, waiting for another chance to be worn. They looked like a happy couple, without a care in the world.

"You kept this?"

"It's in a safe that's bolted to the floor of my office at home," he told her. "I've changed so much, Sara."

"You did? _I _did. Look how young I was," she marveled.

"You're still young," he muttered. "I've gotten old."

She looked up at him, shaking her head. "No, you haven't."

"I have."

She stared at the picture in her hands. Staring back at her, sure enough, was a smooth, unlined face and bright blue eyes not yet marred with the gloom and sadness Sara had grown so used to seeing these past five years.

"We both have changed," she sighed.

He reached into the envelope again and pulled out a newspaper clipping. In the photograph in the middle of the page was a picture of both of them at a crime scene behind the yellow tape. "This was taken right after that case we had at the Buddhist temple." Grissom handed the yellowing paper to her. "I was thinking about asking you out right about then. I bought tickets to an art exhibit, and I was scouting out different vegetarian restaurants."

"What stopped you?"

"This picture. I opened my Sunday paper and there it was." He looked at it as she cradled it in her hands. "I realized how old I had gotten. This was not even four years after your office Christmas party. I realized that I kept thinking of us as we were then. When I saw this picture in the newspaper, it hit me."

Sara furrowed her brows. "What did?"

"How much…older I was. _Am_. How much older I _am_."

She leaned forward. "I never cared about that."

Grissom looked at her for a long while, as if he were testing to see if she were telling the truth. "There's no way I can know that for sure." Sara opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand and continued. "All I can do is trust that you love me."

Her hands fell lifelessly in her lap, scattering the pictures over the bed sheets.

"Right after that…I went to the doctor."

"The doctor?" Sara exclaimed. She lifted her hands to his face. He gripped her wrists, pulling them up to his mouth to kiss the pulse points.

"My mother's hearing condition is degenerative. Degenerative and…hereditary." Sara's eyes widened as her breath grew shallow. "I had otosclerosis…what my mother had."

"This was…this must have been three years ago. Have you had it all this long?"

Grissom shook his head. "I had surgery to correct it about two years ago." He pulled her closer instinctively and told her of his year in limbo. Sara rested her head on his shoulder and listened. It was as if he were giving her missing pieces to a puzzle that she had long ago given up trying to solve. His behavior was beginning to make sense. She understood his fear, for it was the same brand that was coursing through her veins. He had lived through the same pain she had, and had done so alone. And now Grissom was offering Sara the love and support he went so long without.

He kissed her neck and inhaled her scent. "Sara, I trust that you love me. I trust that you won't look at me and see the same old man I see when I look in the mirror. I trust that you won't leave me for one of the many young men who are in awe of your presence." She scoffed and choked out a small sob as he continued. "I trust that you won't leave me." Sara could hear him swallow hard. He was gripping her tight, as if she were his life raft as much as he was hers.

She kissed him right below his ear and sighed. "I think we're gonna be alright."

Sara pulled back and smiled at him, her eyes brimming with tears. Grissom rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. "I guess I'll have to teach you sign language," he grinned tiredly.

"Teach me the dirty words first."

THE END

A/N: There'll be an epilogue soon. Thanks for the reviews. You guys have been awesome!


	10. Epilogue

Epilogue

It sounded as if she were crying in another room. What were, no doubt, piercing wails got muffled on their way to Sara's ears, but she didn't care. The doctor placed the screaming newborn on Sara's chest, and the tiny girl squirmed and blinked up at her father who was hovering over his recently expanded family.

The new parents watched as a nurse took their daughter to be cleaned off, wrapping her up in a thin blanket and securing a striped skullcap on the her head.

Grissom tapped Sara's shoulder, getting her attention.

_Name?_ he signed.

Sara smiled and leaned back onto her pillow as the nurse handed her the baby. "I just did all the work and now you want me to name her?"

Grissom held up his battered and bruised left hand that had been squeezed mercilessly for twenty-three hours of labor. He pointed to the rip in his collar, which happened, thanks to Sara, at around hour seventeen. She grinned up at him and then shifted her focus to the small being in her arms. The baby had her hands curled up under her chin. Sara marveled at each perfect nail that tipped each perfect finger. It was a bittersweet moment. Her hearing was all but gone, and she would never hear her daughter giggle at one of Grissom's silly bug jokes or say "I love you, Mommy" before getting tucked into bed at night. Her baby might inherit a hearing disorder from one of her parents along with her father's eyes and her mother's nose. Bittersweet, yes, but Sara knew that if her daughter ever felt as happy as she felt at that moment, she'd be one lucky girl.

They moved Sara to a private room with a view of the water. The baby, still nameless, was wheeled in soon after, Grissom trailing behind, never losing sight of her. The nurse instructed them to press the 'Call' button if they needed any help and then left them alone. Grissom immediately picked up the baby, eager to hold her again. He swayed gently, finding a rhythm and keeping it. Sara smiled dreamily at the pair in front of her. She reached her arms up, but Grissom smirked at her and continued to hold his daughter.

"Hey! Learn to share," Sara laughed.

"She lived in you for nine months," he justified, slowly and clearly so he was sure she could read his lips.

Sara just laughed and rolled her eyes, scooting over so Grissom could sit down on her bed. She leaned in and let the baby grasp her index finger. Around her small wrist was a hospital bracelet. Sara tilted her head and squinted her eyes to read the tiny print. "Sara Sidle? Did they name her for us?"

Grissom shook his head. "The mother's name is put on the child's bracelet so there are no mix-ups," he told her. Sara eyed him skeptically. "I asked one of the nurses," he confessed.

"Well, we need to think of a name. She can't be Baby Girl Grissom for the rest of her life."

"Why argue with the hospital?" Grissom shrugged. "Let's go with what's on the bracelet."

"Excuse me?" Sara looked up and stared at his mouth so as not to miss anything.

"Let's call her Sara."

"You've already got one Sara."

"And now I have two."


End file.
